


When The Time Is Right

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Arguing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Fights, Hermione Granger - character, Jewelry, Love Confessions, Secret Relationship, Uncertainty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is ready to be public about their relationship. Hermione must decide if the time is right. Tonight, at the celebration ball, is her last chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Time Is Right

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hawthorn and Vine 2012 [Treasured Tropes challenge](http://dramione.org/browse.php?type=categories&catid=45).

_If the time is right._   
_If you're finally ready._   
_Wear this to let me know._

Hermione crumpled the scrap of parchment and pushed it into her teacup. She touched one corner of it with her wand and muttered a quick charm. The parchment burst into flame and consumed itself immediately, even the ashes disappearing into the last swallow of tea left at the bottom of the cup. Hermione stared at the small case waiting on the table in front of her bedroom window. Delivered by an anonymous owl, the case had no markings, no stamp or label to tell her where it had originated, but she knew. She'd only had to glimpse the handwriting on the parchment, only had to glance over the three short lines to know who had sent the owl. She touched the case, her fingers shaking, then slowly opened it.

Light gleamed on black velvet, as if the sun had been trapped in the small box. Hermione pressed her hand to her throat and felt her heart pounding under her fingers. The necklace was a thin rope of gold like one that could be bought in any jewelry shop in London, but the pendant--

She drew one finger along the velvet around the stone. It was a yellow topaz the size of a quail's egg. The stone had been shaped into a teardrop and placed in a setting of gold filigree. Hermione closed her eyes and tightened her lips to keep them from trembling. She knew this stone. She remembered the first time she'd seen it.

* * *

"Come on." He whispered to her, one pale brow lifted, his grey eyes sparkling in the gleam of the wisp light that hovered over them. "Come on, Granger. It's perfectly safe."

Biting her lip, she slipped her hand into his. Draco pulled her close to his side and wrapped his free arm around her. They turned in place, but instead of the twisting, spinning feel of Apparition, Hermione felt as though she were being pulled, stretched like taffy. She felt a dozen feet tall, then squished into a few inches, then returned to her own shape. Eyes squeezed shut, she waited for her stomach to stop rolling and her limbs to stop trembling.

Draco brushed his thumb across her fingers and released her hand. "You can look now," he said, his voice light with amusement. Hermione opened her eyes and gasped. The wisp light had become a hundred lights, dancing overhead and shining, gleaming, sparkling on the fortune of gold and gems that surrounded them.

"What is this?" she asked. She spoke in a whisper, half-afraid that raising her voice would cause the wisp lights to run away, the shining treasure to disappear. If she spoke too loudly, she might wake up from her dream, because a room like this, with piles of gold and mountains of gems, _had_ to be a dream.

Draco laughed and moved a few steps from her, arms extended. He swept a bow and straightened up with a grin. "The Malfoy vault," he said. "My father's ancestors never really trusted the goblins or public banks. They kept enough money at Gringotts that questions were never raised, but their favorite treasures and most precious items are all here. Exotic furs, antique carpets, plate and silver for the table, tapestries for the walls. Everything, really."

Hermione stared around the room, her fingers curled into the pleats of her robe. Caskets and cases and boxes of jewels stared back at her. She could see a saddle and bridle, made of a brilliant red leather, with rubies and silver embedded into the straps. A tall wardrobe stood open, cloth of gold and heavy velvet gowns spilling out of it. Fur cloaks were draped over a table at least twenty feet long, with a golden statue of a centaur standing guard at one end, her eyes carved of sapphires and her hair and tail made of thin ropes of pearls. Hermione shook her head, unable to fathom how much wealth was piled up in this room.

Draco made a noise of triumph, startling her from her bewilderment, and she snapped around to see him working his way out of a narrow path between two matched suits of armor, the breastplates enameled with roses, one white, one red. He came toward her, a small wooden box cradled in the crook of one arm. He set the box on a table nearby and patted the lid with affection. "Here," he said. "This is what I wanted to show you most. I think you'll like this. My great-great - well, loads of greats - grandfather, the first Lucius. He had this commissioned as a betrothal gift. He intended to give it to Elizabeth."

Hermione knotted her brows, staring at him. "Elizabeth who?"

Draco chuckled as he opened the case. He pulled out a large topaz shaped like a teardrop and took her hand to settle it in her palm. "A brilliant, clever, headstrong, and talented woman. Elizabeth the First, Queen of England." Hermione jerked in surprise and Draco folded his hand around hers, keeping the topaz in her fingers. "Malfoys weren't _always_ against Muggles and the Muggleborn, Hermione," he said. He cupped her cheek and lifted her head to meet her eyes. "That came later. We've changed our minds before. When the time is right, we can easily do it again."

* * *

Hermione rubbed one finger over the facets of the stone. Draco had draped a string of pearls around her neck and fastened the pendant to it. He'd kissed her, caressed her, and drawn her to a bed carved from a single giant oak. He'd made love to her as she wore that pendant and nothing else.

She took a deep breath and pulled her hand away from the stone. Turning her back on it, she folded her arms over her stomach as she stared at the gown hanging in the air by her bed. It was done in yellows and browns, the shades of wheat fields just before harvest. The seamstress who'd sewn it had exclaimed over how well the colors went with her hair and skin. The topaz pendant would give the gown a glorious finishing touch.

She wondered if Draco had planned this gift, possibly found out who would be making her gown and convincing the woman to put her into those colors, or if things had simply fallen into place, as if it were meant to be. She still didn't believe in Divination, in signs and portents and predictions, but this was too perfect. It was too much to be only a coincidence.

She sighed and touched the sleeve of the gown, pleating the lace ruffles between her fingers. When it came to Draco Malfoy, nothing was a coincidence.

* * *

Head bent over a dozen parchments, notes she'd taken from various books of runes, Hermione groped blindly for her teacup. She'd expected it to be cold, but blinked in surprise when the ceramic was warm against her fingers.

"I had the waitress refill it," said a soft, deep voice.

Hermione jumped and snapped her head up. Shoving a handful of curls out of her face, she stared at the man who'd sat, uninvited and unexpected, at her table. "Malfoy?"

He lifted a brow and nodded at her before sipping something thick and dark from a tall glass. "The very same."

"I, er. I didn't realize--" She swept her parchments into a loose stack, pushing the edges straight with quick taps. "I didn't realize you'd joined me. I mean I-I-I. I didn't even notice."

"I believe a herd of centaurs could thunder through here and you wouldn't even notice." Draco smiled and gestured in the air over the table, indicating her books and notes. "Finally decided to start on that translation, then? I hope you're going to do the fountain tale first. That was always my favorite."

"I hadn't decided yet." Hermione twisted her hair back to bind it at her nape with a stretched-out elastic she pulled off her wrist. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't a man join a pretty woman for tea? Just happened to be in the area."

Hermione pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed hard. "No. You didn't just happen to be here. You never just _happen_ to be anywhere. You planned this," she said quietly. "You need to go. I'm meeting Harry in-" She glanced at her watch and gulped. "You need to go. Draco, please. Get out of here before he shows up."

He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head, looking her over as he took another slow drink. "You haven't told him." There wasn't a hint of question in his voice, just a bald statement of fact, and his words were perfectly level. Almost disinterested. 

Hermione still flinched. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and looked at the table, the wall, the floor, at anything except Draco. She curled her fingers around her teacup and stared into it, watching the pale swirls of steam as they rose from the surface. "No. No, I haven't," she whispered.

Draco didn't move, but she could feel the air change. There was a tension there that hadn't existed a moment before. When she finally forced herself to look up and meet his eyes, her heart raced in response. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened and a small muscle twitched in his cheek. His eyes were as empty as mirrors. Without thinking, she reached across the table to touch his arm. "Draco."

He drew back from her, clearing his throat. He setting his glass down and rubbed his jaw, the tip of one finger lingering on a tiny scar just beneath his chin. "You told me you would," he said. "You said you would tell him. I promised not to say a single word to anyone until you'd had the chance to speak to your friends. That was six months ago, Hermione. I thought I might be here when you met up with him so I'd be on hand if you actually decided to tell him. But that's not going to happen, is it?"

"I know. I _know_. It's only that...." Hermione sighed. She dropped her hands into her lap and twisted them together, rubbing her thumbs over and over each other. "It's Harry. It's _Harry_ , Draco. You know what he's like."

One of his hands moved to his chest, fingers tapping over his heart. It was an absent, unconscious gesture. Hermione knew what he was doing without thinking of it. He was feeling the spots where Harry had cut him open all those years ago. Draco touched his chest and exhaled slowly. "Yes," he said. His low drawl didn't hide the bitter tang of his words. "I know what he's like."

The door of the bistro opened, a bell jangling over it, and Hermione threw a glance over her shoulder, silently praying that the person walking in wasn't Harry. Her heart pounded at the sight of dark hair and glasses, but the wizard who stepped in was far too stocky. She turned back to Draco, who was watching her with a look of such disappointment that it made tears prick at her eyes. 

He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath as he stood. "You said you'd tell them when the time was right," he murmured. He tossed a few coins on the table next to his glass and looked down at her. As if he couldn't help himself, he brushed a bit of hair back from her face, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Hermione, I--"

He drew his hand back as the bell over the door rang again. "Never mind. Your appointment is here. Have a good talk." He strode out without another word. Hermione watched over her shoulder as he passed Harry with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment.

Harry stared after him, brows knotted, then joined Hermione at the table. "Was that Malfoy? What did _he_ want?"

"Nothing." Hermione forced a shrug and a smile, as if she didn't care in the slightest. "He just bumped my table on his way out. Just a coincidence."

* * *

Hermione snatched up the teacup and turned her back on the gown and pendant, as if putting them out of her sight could make all of her confusion disappear. If she didn't look, she wouldn't think about it. Wouldn't think about _him_. She wouldn't have to make a decision that she wasn't ready to make.

She went into the kitchen and rinsed out the cup before putting the kettle on to boil with a tap of her wand. She leaned against the counter and stared at the wall. There hung the hand-carved clock Draco had given her during a winter holiday in Switzerland. They'd spent two weeks together, completely Muggle.

A quiet village in the mountains hosted a small chalet available for hire, and Draco had paid for the entire thing, laying claim to the whole building so they could be alone. They'd gone skiing, gone hiking. They took slow walks at dusk to watch the sun set, had long breakfasts in front of the huge stone fireplace at dawn. They'd made love in the sauna and in the snow.

It had been two of the happiest weeks of her life, and all she had of it was that clock and her memories. Not a single photograph or souvenir that might raise questions. Even the clock was something Draco had been forced to talk her into accepting. She hadn't wanted any evidence left behind for her friends to notice. Harry and Ginny were in her flat too often; Ron wouldn't see anything off, but Lavender was more observant. Pansy and Theodore would _definitely_ pay attention to hints about Draco.

The kettle started to whistle and Hermione made attempts at distracting herself by fixing her tea. Milk, sugar, and loose leaves of a blueberry and vanilla tea blend, with a pair of ginger biscuits on a palm-sized plate. She sat at the table and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of the tea. She only had a few minutes to rest before she had to get dressed. Only a few minutes to make a decision that could change everything.

* * *

Draco drew one finger down her spine and tapped on the small dimples just above her arse. Hermione giggled and lifted her hips, attempting to coax him to push his hand lower for a second round of morning sex. He didn't respond to her silent encouragement, instead pulling his hand away. She lifted her head from the pillow. "What?" she asked, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes to look at his face in the pale dawn light. His brows were knotted; his lips were pressed together, hiding the slight tear on his bottom lip where she'd bitten him. She rolled over and sat up with the sheet pulled to her breasts. "Draco, what's wrong?"

He stared at the fireplace across the bedroom. "I want to tell," he said eventually. "I'm ready."

Hermione stared at him. When he'd come over the night before, entered her house through the Floo well after dark, she'd expected that everything was still the same, that their arrangement was still in place. No witnesses, no evidence, no public acknowledgment of their relationship. They'd made that decision at the very beginning to keep their friends out of it. They didn't want arguments and fights while their relationship was still new. It was difficult enough to mesh their lives when it was just the two of them. She hadn't seen any hints that he wanted to change that status. It had been working. Why now?

"Why now?" she asked aloud. "Why do you want to tell?"

"Because I'm ready," he said with a sigh. "Why do you need an explanation for everything? Can't you just accept what I'm saying? I'm ready to take us public."

Hermione reached over the side of the bed and groped for her shirt. She pulled it on and started to plait her hair, hoping that would give her enough time to come up with a response without seeming to stall. From the way Draco's expression hardened, she wasn't successful.

He looked at her, then swore under his breath before throwing the sheet off to get out of bed. He yanked his trousers on, his back to her. "You're not ready," he said. Each word snapped like a hex, an accusation thrown straight at her heart. "You're still not ready. It's been a year, Granger. Don't you think people are going to figure things out? Or were you just planning to Obliviate anyone who guessed?"

Hermione tossed the end of her braid over her shoulder, stuffed pillows behind her back, and leaned against the headboard. She watched Draco as he stomped to the window that looked over her rear garden. He pushed it open and sat on the sill to light a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. She normally took pride in watching him display wandless, nonverbal magic with such ease, took a sense of deep sensuality from watching him smoke after they made love, but that morning she couldn't take pleasure in his usual rituals. "No one's figured anything out yet," she said quietly. She got out of bed and took a clean pair of knickers from the bureau. "No one's asked questions, or made any guesses, or done any detective work or anything like that. There's nothing to worry about. We don't have to tell yet."

"That's what you say," Draco said. He blew a thin stream of smoke out the window and slumped against the frame, rubbing his forehead. "But I want to. I'm ready. I _want_ to tell people I'm with you, Hermione. Why does that bother you so much?"

"We agreed--"

"I know we agreed!"

Hermione whipped around at his shout, startled by the volume and the growl in his voice. Draco held up his hand, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell. I'm frustrated. I'm annoyed. To be frank, I'm more than that. I'm angry. At first, you said you didn't want to tell anyone because we were still feeling out how things would work. Didn't make any sense to aggravate all our friends and start a load of fights if we weren't even certain that we were anything more than a dirty weekend."

He pinched out the end of his cigarette and dropped it into a tin on the windowsill. Turning to face her, he crossed his arms and met her eyes. "But we are more than that now. We've smoothed out most of our problems, compromised where we couldn't agree, and we have made things _work_. We're solid. Solid enough to weather all those fights and arguments. We agreed at the beginning-- No. You decided, and I compromised. Every time we made another step, I waited to see if you'd want to go public, but you never did."

Hermione crossed the room and put her arms around him. He didn't unfold his arms or even move. Hermione rested her head against his chest regardless of the awkward position. "I know. We're ... we're good. We're very good together. We've worked so many things out and we're...." She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. "We're better than good. We're great, Draco. We're amazing. But I'm not ready to tell everyone. Not yet. I don't want to ruin that. The time isn't right."

He didn't answer. Draco stayed as unmoving as a statue. Even his breathing and the beat of his heart under her ear seemed to be still. Slowly, Hermione straightened up to look at him. "Draco?"

"I'm ready," he said again. "But you're not." He unfolded his arms without looking at her. Hermione stepped back, her pulse racing at the icy sharpness of his voice. He crossed the room and grabbed the rest of his clothes. "I don't know if you're ashamed of being with me or if you care more about your friends' feelings than you do about mine, but I don't think it matters at the moment. I'm starting to believe that you'll never be ready."

"Draco, no--"

"No," he snapped. "I don't want to hear it. I've been hearing it for a year, Granger, and I'm done." He turned to look full at her and Hermione took another step back, fetching up against the window. His expression was frozen; his eyes looked empty. He stared at her for a few heartbeats, then shook his head. "The time isn't right? You're just not ready to admit to us? All right, then. You just let me know when you _are_ ready."

* * *

Hermione pillowed her head on her arms and let her tea go cold. She still couldn't understand why all of this was so difficult for her.

Even as she thought it, she knew it for the lie it was. She knew why it was so hard, knew why it was so complicated. It wasn't anything to do with Draco or with them as a couple. It was everything to do with her. It was everything she'd been dealing with since she was a child.

She was afraid. She was terrified to fail. There wasn't anything to study or research here; there was nothing she could use as a guide. Her cleverness couldn't help her with this. Her books didn't have any answers. There was no way to disappear into her head for this. She had to rely on her heart.

Hermione went back into her bedroom and looked at the necklace. She ran ran the chain through her fingers and weighed the pendant in her palm. She had to let her heart make this decision, she knew. It was finally time.

If she could face it.

* * *

Hermione walked into the ballroom, the long skirts of her gown rustling around her legs. A hundred witches and wizards were already in the center of the room, twirling and spinning to the gentle tune of the orchestra. She scanned the wide room, nodding to colleagues and acquaintances who called out to her or raised a glass of wine in greeting. Her heart pounded as she walked deeper into the crowd. Every time she caught sight of a pale blond head, her breath caught. By the time she reached the far side of the room, she was ready to tear off her corset. There didn't seem to be enough room for her to breathe and she felt like she wanted to sob. She'd seen everyone in the ballroom, everyone who had been invited the celebration, but there was no sign of Draco.

She leaned against a fluted column and pressed her hand to her throat. This was a punishment, she thought. All her fretting, all her worry, and even as she'd left her home, she'd still been unable to face the decision that rode heavy on her mind. She'd been unable to listen to her heart on her own, wanting to see Draco before she could choose, and now she was suffering for it. He wasn't there, and she was crumbling under indecision and fear.

She rested her head against the column, her back to the swirling dancers, and she struggled for breath. The orchestra played a slow dance and the beat of the music sounded like the beat of her name. When the music hushed, she heard a deep, low, achingly familiar voice say her name.

"Hermione."

She whipped around and he was there. For the first time in weeks, he was there. His eyes shone, matched perfectly by his silver robes. Sapphires were set into the embroidered dragons that twined over his chest, and around his neck was a silver chain with a brilliant blue topaz in the shape of a teardrop.

"Hermione," he said again. He took a step forward with a tentative half-smile, then his eyes fell to the ruffled neckline of her dress. He froze, looking at her bare throat and the empty expanse of skin, and his smile disappeared. He drew his head up and straighted his shoulders. His hands twitched at his side. "I see," he said, his teeth gritted. "That's that, then. Goodbye, Miss Granger."

Hermione's heart stopped at the quavering pain in his voice. She hadn't worn the pendant, thinking that she would see him again and his reaction would tell her the right choice. Quiet acceptance to give her more time or cold anger to tell her not to hope. She hadn't expected this, hadn't expected to see sorrow and hurt in his face. Not so openly. Not with such betrayal.

Draco swallowed hard and inclined his head to her before turning away. He strode onto the dance floor, cutting straight through the dancers on a path to the exit. Hermione made a wordless noise and grabbed up her skirts to run after him. "Draco!" She shouted to be heard over laughter and music. "Draco, wait!"

The dancers swirled to a halt, the musicians stopped in mid-note, and the ballroom fell silent. Hermione rushed forward, her mind in a whirl. She couldn't think at all as she grasped Draco's arm and turned him to face her. "Draco, please," she said, panting for breath. She let her words spill out of her without worrying over whether they were the right ones. Her heart was in control of her voice and she let it fly.

"Draco, don't. Don't turn away from me. Don't leave. I was afraid, I'm always afraid. I think I might fail and everything will go wrong and since I can't bear the idea of failing I don't even try. It terrifies me and this terrifies me. All of this, all of us, everything we've been. But now I see you and I know I've hurt you and I'm sorry because that's the last thing I ever wanted to do. I was trying, I've been trying all along to protect myself, thinking that if we kept everything secret then I would never have to worry about facing the potential of failure and _that_ was more of a failure than just stepping up and being honest. I hurt you and I'm sorry and I didn't want things to end this way. No!" She shook her head at herself, clutching his arm. "I don't want things to end at all."

She released him to scrabble through the tiny pocket at the side of her gown, pushing past her wand in her hunt. "This isn't the right time," she said, her voice trembling as much as her hands. "The time isn't right. Matter of fact, it's about as wrong as it can be, but I don't want to think about that. I don't want to _think_ and worry and be afraid of failure anymore. Maybe we've done well so far and maybe we'll fail in the future or maybe we'll succeed, but I can't think about that. I can't plan for it; I can just let it happen. It's not the right time but it's the perfect time because I don't want to lose this chance. I don't want to lose you."

She jerked the velvet case from her pocket and snatched the pendant out. She dropped the case on the floor to swing the necklace around her throat. "This, Draco," she said as she fumbled at the clasp. "This-this-this symbol. This.... I don't know! I don't know what it means, but my head isn't in charge now. My heart is. I love you."

The collective gasp of the watchers was as loud as thunder in the ballroom. Draco stepped closer and took her wrists in both hands, holding her still. "You're babbling, Hermione. Slow down." He met her eyes and slowly tugged the ends of the gold chains from her fingers to hold them at the back of her neck. "I didn't intend this sort of public declaration," he said quietly. "I just wanted you to tell your friends. Just a little bravery, Hermione."

He looked at her, his eyes tight and wary. "When you decide to do something, you do it big, don't you?"

She laid her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes, ignoring the scattered whispers and open-mouthed stares. She looked at him, let him see the fear and hope in her face. She allowed all her emotions, the whole swirling mess of them, to show on her face for him and _everyone_ to see. In a loud, shaking voice, she let everyone hear. "I love you. And I don't give a damn who knows. Everyone _should_ know. I love you."

Draco exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath. His hands trembled against her neck as he fastened the class. Settling the pendant in the center of her chest, he finally smiled. He pulled her close and bent to catch her mouth in a kiss. As light as it was, it burned through her. She wrapped both arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair as he held her tight to him. "Love you too, Hermione," he murmured against her lips. "Ready or not, right time or wrong, I love you."

She drew back enough to smile at him, one hand cupping his cheek. "I'm ready." Taking his hand, she turned to face the stunned crowd. With a squeeze of his fingers, she braced herself for the questions. It was time.


End file.
